Give and Take
by Thanfiction
Summary: They say power is the greatest aphrodesiac. WARNING for violence of a sexual nature. Daydverse.


It was supposed to be an honor. Draco said so, Professor Slughorn said so, the Carrows said so, Headmaster Snape, even his father had sent him a letter congratulating him on it, and at first, he had believed it. Now, though, almost a month later, Greg was coming to the definite conclusion that people liked to use 'honor' as an excuse to keep you from complaining about the dirty work. And patrolling the stupid corridors with Vince at every hour of the bloody night? That was the dirty work, definitely, even if the Headmaster did it too.

Sure, they got to skip the first class of the morning to lie-in, but that had got old fast. It meant breakfast reheated or lunch early and no breakfast food at all, and three times a week, it meant missing Dark Arts, which really crossed him. First class in seven years of useless school that was actually _interesting_ in a way that didn't just mean wondering what Hagrid was going to try and feed the Gryffindors to next, and it was supposed to be a treat to miss it. Hex that!

Didn't make much sense to him, either. Why were they wasting all their time trying to catch the DAs out at night? Everyone knew who they were, didn't they? Well, not all, maybe, but the ones that mattered. Longbottom was their leader, definitely – weird as that was – and it was easy to mark out that Macmillan, Abbott, Weasley, Finnigan, Creevey, and those two queer Ravenclaws were in it up to their wands. Why not just take them out and have it done with?

_Don't ask questions of yer Betters, Greggie. _It's what his father always said, and Betters always sounded like it had a capital B and meant Malfoys. When he was younger, he'd taken it for spellcraft. His father and Vince's both had been set to go to Azkaban as nothing more than thugs when old Malfoy had got them out of it, after all. Made them 'Gentlemen at Arms' in his Private Employ, and then proper Death Eaters besides. Pulled up from the gutter, they'd been, and it was their duty to be grateful and remember where all the nice things came from.

Except maybe that was fine enough for Dad and old man Malfoy, but things had changed since then. Old Malfoy was out bad with the Dark Lord, and Draco….

Greg made a face in the darkness, barely bothering to even pretend to glance around him as they turned the next in the endless series of corners and corridors. Draco was a prick. Cowardly little do-nothing prick who thought his shit smelled like _Amortentia_. Last year, he would have looked around nervously just for thinking it, but he'd thought it plenty enough when he'd been made to hide out under Polyjuice as an effing _little girl_ while the skinny skrewt tossed off in the Room of Requirement. _Probably broke it, too. Nobody can even find it no more. But he still gots all airs and –_

A sharp tug on his sleeve yanked him out of his grumpy musings, and Vince had stopped so suddenly that it looked like someone had Petrified him. "_There!" _He hissed almost silently. "_Gots one!"_

He almost said it was a shadow, that it was always a shadow, that the place was full of funny shadows and moving paintings and false effing alarms, but no. Because if he was following where Vince was pointing right, then his friend might actually be on to something. It wasn't really seeing anything, not so's you'd normally see it, but the stones in that one patch of wall looked…wonky. Like something in the distance on a black road on the hottest day of summer. And as they watched, holding their breath, grateful that they were still in the shadows, the wonky patch began to move.

"_STUPIFY!" _Both wands flared, both voices rang out at the same time, and the wonky patch flopped to the ground, ceasing to look anything like stones and instead becoming very definitely a person in a Hogwarts uniform. The hood was pulled up, they were face-down, and they'd done something to take away the House colors and make the robes all black, but Greg didn't need to see red, blue, or yellow to know what they had, even if not who yet.

"We got one!" Vince pumped his wand into the air, shimmying his shoulders with a grin that Greg would have thought looked really stupid if he weren't so close to wanting to jump up and down himself from the unexpected thrill of actually _succeeding _in their 'honorable' mission. "Got a DA! Got a DA!"

"Yeah!" Greg nodded eagerly, exchanging a hard high-five before kneeling down to pull the hood back on their prize. It felt like Christmas or a birthday, almost. Too small to be Longbottom or Macmillan, even in loose robes it was easy to see that, but it could still be a good one. And even if it wasn't one of the best ones, there had to be some kind of _major _reward for this. Maybe from the Dark Lord himself? After all, the only one who'd caught a DA red-handed before was the Headmaster himself, and even then they'd gotten away.

The thought stopped him, one hand already on the edge of the hood, and he frowned, pulling back. They _were _sneaky little gits. Best make sure. He pointed his wand at the fallen figure again. "_Expelliarmus, Stupify, Stupify, Petrificus Totalus, _and…er…_Incarcerus!" _The body twitched several times, but by the time the magical ropes cocooned it, it was stiff as stone and the wand had skittered several feet down the corridor, earning him a rather impressed look from Vince.

"Don't want 'em going nowhere, do you?"

"No," he answered simply, then pulled back the hood. To find a scarf, also black, wrapped around the head. "Aw, c'mon! It ain't Chinese boxes here! What? Gots a mask under that?"

"I reckon she's a witch." Vince whispered almost reverently, pointing to a long brown strand that had escaped at the edge of the scarf. "Look at the hair."

"Ackerley got long hair," Greg pointed out, though he didn't even know why he was arguing. Vince was probably right, the hands were like a witch's too, but it just annoyed him more and more these days having everyone tell him stuff like he couldn't see and think for himself. Even if that person was his best friend. Maybe even especially then.

"Yeah, but his's lighter," Vince retorted immediately. "And that's a girl's arse."

Without even looking at the tightly-roped arse in question, Greg grinned, punching the other youth only half-teasingly in the shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "You'd be looking at the arse if it were a bloke, then?"

The answering punch caught him hard in the ribs, but he managed to keep the reaction to a glower and a bit of a _whuff _noise, not wanting to look weak. "I's looking at the arse 'cuz it _ain't _a bloke! Now c'mon…" Vince tugged eagerly at the scarf, managing only to pull it tighter. "Lessee what we've got so we can tell Professor Snape!"

It took a bit to work it out – whoever she was, she was good with knots – but they finally just used a Severing Charm, pulling back to examine the face revealed in the glow of their wands. There was absolutely no question that it was a witch now, and she was _hot_; even unconscious. Her skin was perfect, no spots or anything, her eyelashes dark and long, her lips big and soft-looking and almost as red as if she had lipstick on. He shifted, feeling awkwardly as if it was somehow treason to think a Gryffindor and a DA was so pretty, then looked up at Vince so he didn't have to keep staring at her, pointing down with his wand even though it made him feel like an idiot to say the obvious. "It's Brown."

"Hoping it were Weasley," Vince muttered, but he seemed unable to take his eyes off her, and he was acting funny too. "Think she's a good one?"

"She's out here in that getup, she's DA," Greg observed, trying to be practical about it. "That means she's a good one."

"We should turn her in."

He nodded, his eyes drifting back, only this time they wouldn't stay on her face, following the lines of the ropes that suggested a lot more than the _very _nice arse that Vince had pointed out. "What do you think we'll get?"

"I don't know."

"You suppose we'll get anything?"

Greg considered it a moment, visions of medals and rewards dancing briefly through his imagination before floating away like Daydream Charms in the face of what he knew the reality probably would be. He shrugged, mimicking Professor Slughorn's ridiculous, blustery way of talking. "Good job, lads. Done Slytherin House proud!"

Vince was still staring at Brown, pulling at his chin as he thought, and he nodded slowly. "That's true. Not fair. Stinks, in fact."

"Yeah."

There was another long silence as his friend circled her, finally prodding her with his foot. She was still stiff, and it knocked her over on one side, casting the curvy outline of her shadow absurdly huge against the wall behind them. "Maybe if we got her to tell us something about where we could get a better one, or where they've put the Room of Hidden Stuff?"

"Let's take her in there, ask her up a bit." He jerked his wand towards the door of the History of Magic classroom. They weren't doing anything wrong, in fact, they were doing by all counts fantastically better than had been expected, but his heart was still beating fast, it still seemed like they were going to get caught, even if he didn't know by who or why. Maybe it was just the worry that there would be more DAs out, but he didn't like staying out in the corridor like this. "We could use some of the interrogation stuff from last week."

Vince made a noise of agreemet, and between the two of them, they quickly carried her out of the hall. She didn't weigh that much, but she also didn't _bend_, and that made it harder than he had expected. Of course, he also hadn't expected that even under the spells, his fingers would still press into her skin because that had stayed soft, or how warm she would be, or that she'd smell like some kind of perfume that should have reminded him of his Nanny's soap but definitely _didn't. _"Oi! Greg?"

Right. Put her down.

Reluctantly, he lowered her to the floor, then took a step back, twisting his wand in the fabric of his sleeve. Brown was _enemy_. She was a DA, a Blood-Traitor, a Gryffindor, one of Potter's. She was a captured prisoner, and she needed to be interrogated. But he'd also never had a girl like this that he could just touch however he wanted, who was like the best magazine ever because she was flesh and blood, even if she was enemy. Enemy. Dirty, nasty Muggle-loving scum. He wondered what she tasted like.

As if it had given up on waiting for the rest of him to sort itself out, his hand had waved the wand, dropping the ropes away, the invisible magical extension of his touch hovering at the clasp of the robes at her throat. He didn't meet Vince's eyes, because this was getting dangerously close to a sex thing, he could feel it in the room, and the first rule of that if there was another man in the room was always no eye contact. "You wanna search her?"

He hated his voice most of the time – hated how it sometimes seemed to have barely broken at all, how it sounded softer and higher than effing _Creevey_ sometimes, even though big men were supposed to have big, rumbling basses – but it was even higher than usual, and he coughed, forcing it down as deep as it could. "You know, 'cuz…those DA's…they're slippery. Might have more weapons or sommat."

It took Vince less than no time to answer, and his voice sounded surprisingly tight too. Out of the corner of his eye, there was the glint of a spell, and her robes parted all the way, and now her blackened tie was being pulled out from under the neck of her vest. "Better get her whole kit off. Could hide something anywhere."

He didn't want to use the wand any more. It was like being given permission, and he dropped to his knees, yanking the tie the rest of the way off. Pulling the vest off was far harder than he'd thought, especially with her all not bending and the angle being all wrong because he'd never actually undressed another person before, and the next thing he knew, there was a harsh rasping sound. Greg winced, though it shouldn't have mattered, frowning worriedly at the torn cloth in his fist. "No one'll get mad at us, right?"

"'Course not," Vince said dismissively, but before Greg could press the point, his friend had grabbed her shirt front, showing no compunction at all about just pulling it straight open. Several of the buttons popped, another was hanging by a thread, and it didn't matter. "Blimey! Wudja look at _those!" _

Her bra was white. A kind of cotton in places and lace in others. And she had been sweating, so her skin was shiny, and there were places where you could see _right through_.

Whatever he had been about to say didn't matter. If he had a name didn't matter, and breathing was overrated. He blinked several times, vaguely aware that it was possible he was drooling, and it was very impressive that someone somewhere nearby with a voice that sounded quite like his was able to talk, even if it was a shaky kind of whisper. "Bloody hell!"

A hand (he had to double-check that it wasn't his, considering) reached slowly towards them, and he swallowed hard as one thick finger slipped beneath the strap on the shoulder, starting to pull it away and making the cup gap, the flesh shift – he shook his head. "Don't touch 'em, Vince! "

The brown eyes narrowed up at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Why not? You got her hexed up fifty different ways, she ain't gonna do nothing!"

It had clicked now, that thing that had been bothering at him, and he folded his arms, shaking his head again as he made himself sit back. Now that he realized what it was, he wasn't going to be budging on this. His father would kill him. "You don't touch girls unless they let you. That's raping."

"No it ain't!" Vince protested incredulously, but he pulled back nonetheless, matching Greg's unyielding posture over Brown's half-dressed body. "'Sides, she ain't a girl, she's a DA! And she's a slut, too; everybody knows." He raised his chin, his tone determined but a little bit mocking as he pointed out the obvious. "Can't rape no slut."

It was a good point, and it made him feel a lot better the more he thought about it. What was it his Uncle had said that one time? 'Can't steal what's being gived away"? Wasn't about girls, but true all the same. Had nothing to do with her being an enemy girl, after all, or even a sexy one. Patil was sexy too, in her darkie kind of way, but she'd still count as raping. The idea of _doing _anything with a frozen witch was still creepy, though, and although he uncrossed his arms, it was only to wag a cautioning finger at Vince. "Okay, then. Just feeling her up, though."

Quickly, like he was afraid Greg would change his mind, Vince pulled the strap all the way down, then the other one, and they both gasped out loud as her tits came free. His own palms tingled with envy as he watched the other youth's hands first touch lightly, then squeeze, pushing them up together to make cleavage that seemed to go on forever as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples. He swallowed hard, his throat and his trousers both having gotten abruptly a lot smaller. "They feel good?"

Vince's eyes were closed, and he made a low, moaning sound that was all wrong to hear as he tipped his head back. "Oh…have a go, Greg!"

No more invitation was needed. His hands shot out, pushing the other ones out of the way, and now the moan was his as he encountered what had to be acres of the softest, hottest flesh he'd ever imagined. So full, so round, so heavy and firm but the way they moved under his fingers…. "Merlin's arse!"

There was a low, ragged chuckle from Vince, and he deliberately didn't notice that he was adjusting himself in his pants. "Don't reckon Merlin's arse were that nice."

Greg might have made some kind of noise in agreement, but it was vague, distant at best. His heart was pounding, his breathing coming more harshly, and he definitely had a major hard-on now, impossible to ignore as his body begged him to go further, to see what else that incredible body had to offer. He lowered his head, intending to rub his face between her tits, but Vince was yanking on his shoulder. "I got an idea."

He looked up, scowling in frustration at being interrupted. "What?"

"Maybe we don't give her in."

"Why not?"

"They ain't gonna give us nothing for it, you know that. But _she _would." There was something in his smile that Greg had never seen before, a kind of cunning that reminded him almost of Professor Carrow as he pitched his voice quietly, eyes scanning the empty classroom as if they were in danger of being overheard. "It's like you said, she's a slut. Bet if we told her we were gonna turn her over to the Headmaster, she'd do us."

His mouth went dry, he licked his lips slowly, his hands frozen awkwardly in place, and there didn't seem to be a drop of blood left in his head. "I heard she sucked the whole Quidditch Team when they won the Cup last year. Even the girls."

The images that particular rumor had conjured up were even better with an object example here in front of him, and it was everything he could do to not only take his hands away, but keep them off himself and clear his mind enough to stand up, step back, draw his wand and cover (those _tits_) their prisoner as he nodded towards Vince. "Go on. You do it. Wake her up."

He hadn't been afraid, just certain that he couldn't do the spell properly, and for a moment, it seemed that Vince had botched it too. But then she seemed like she were melting a little, her limbs sagging loosely to the floor rather than straight and stiff – oh, Merlin, made her jiggle, too – then she was moving, stirring, shaking her head and sitting up. Brown looked disoriented at first, all groggy and sleepy, but then her eyes got huge, and she gave a short, shrill scream, yanking her bra down and grabbing her clothes shut around herself. "Where…?"

"We gotcha caught red-handed, bitch!" Vince crowed triumphantly. Brown scrambled to her feet, patting desperately at her robes, and somehow, with other things covered up, it was a bit easier to remember that she was enemy.

Greg smiled, reaching into his pocket for the wand he had picked up back in the corridor and dangling it at her with his left hand, even as his own weapon stayed aimed directly at her. "Looking for this?"

One hand got tighter in her shirt, looking like she was about to tear it herself, but her other was fisted at her side, her eyes narrow slits, her hair falling in her face as she crouched and hissed like a cat ready to strike. Her cheeks were red. "Give me back my –!"

"We're not giving you nothing!" Vince interrupted. "You're gonna give us!"

"Eat Doxie shit!"

He'd never seen Vince like this before, and he didn't know whether to be fascinated or jealous or kind of proud of his friend. He didn't look like anybody's Gentleman at Arms or like a seventeen year-old boy at all. He looked like a real Death Eater, a grown man and a big, intimidating bastard at that. Blimey, he looked like his _father_, and he sounded tough as dragon hide. "You wanna go see the Headmaster? Tell him where we found you? He'll have you whipped right down to your bones, just like Longbottom! You want that?"

Emboldened, Greg took a deep breath, and maybe it wasn't so impressive after all, because it came easier than he'd thought it would. Shoulders back and head up, so easy to look down on Brown when she was a foot shorter already, but it was more than that. It was what Draco had only given them little tasters of, but that this time they didn't need him for at all. It was _power, _and whether it was just part of growing up or something they'd earned somehow through blood or luck, it felt _good. _"We know you're DA, Brown! We might even call the Dark Lord hisself! We can do it, too!"

She should have cowered, whimpered, cried. That's what people had done when they just pulled fists for Draco, after all, but Brown didn't seem to know the rules. Instead, she threw back her hair, and she didn't look half so beautiful with her face screwed up like that. "Go right ahead. You're not going to get anything from me, and neither is he. You two throwbacks make me puke."

And she _spit_ at them.

Both of them stared at the white, foamy splatter a few inches from Vince's shoes for a long time, and he could feel that he had to be turning a very similar shade of purple. It was worse than just angry, this was a kind of anger that had all the worst parts of embarrassment inside it, and it was as if she'd called him something worse than Mudblood, said he was nothing right when he'd felt more _something _than ever before. He wanted to hit her, scare her, make her do what she was supposed to, but he was too furious to move, and it was Vince who snapped first.

With a roar like a wounded hippogriff, he charged towards Brown, grabbing her by a fistful of hair and throwing her hard against the wall. She screamed again, but not nearly as much as she should have, and then she was just on her hands and knees, still holding her shirt closed, shaking her head and not letting herself cry when it shouldn't have been a choice. There were still a few strands of hair in Vince's fist, but she _smiled _when she saw them, and it was a freaky, tight, wrong kind of smile that just proved that Gryffindors were definitely all mental. "Look what you did, you lummox. You mussed my hair."

Greg hated her, hated her now for reasons he couldn't even put words on, and he slammed across the room, letting every bit of his weight make his footsteps rattle the stones until he loomed over her, jabbing both wands at her face with a shaking fist. "Listen, slut, we know you're a lot more than DA! We know you whore for Longbottom and everybody else in Gryffindor, and we can make this the worst night of your life if you don't get smart real fast!"

She sneered up at both of them, pretending she didn't understand, even though he was damned sure that she meant to let her shirt gap like that above her fist. Bloody near forcing them to stare right down her cleavage, and putting her arms like that just made it bigger. Tramp. "What would you know about getting smart?"

"You suck us off--" Vince growled, "-- And do it good – and we let you go."

For a fleeting instant, she looked scared, then that twisted Gryffindor smile was back, and she actually laughed at them. "I'd rather blow Filch."

Part of him seemed to curl up and die of shame beneath that laugh, but another, a much larger part only got angrier, and at least half of it was just for taking away how good he'd felt so very recently. He forced himself up tall again, feeling his face twist in a sneer of his own as he yanked back his sleeve. It was the first time he'd ever truly displayed it – letting a couple of people see in the common room didn't count – and he reached for the fragile pieces of the pride and confidence and power that this bitch wasn't allowed to take away.

They had sworn that the Mark would strike fear into the hearts of every enemy, that they would be driven to the floor in terror at what it stood for, at the power it could summon. He had been promised that the pain of having it branded into his skin would be nothing against the pain it meant for any who dared oppose it, and it was the strength of his father, his uncle, his friends and mentors and the Dark Lord himself grand and glorious in midnight hoods and shining masks that drew his back straight now, that raised his voice clear and for the first time satisfying to his own ears.

"You don't get it, do you? We're _Death Eaters!" _The pronouncement rang very well through the classroom, but it didn't seem quite enough, and he went on quickly._ "_Fucking _Death Eaters! _I could…my father…he could have your whole family killed without even…oh, yeah! Have them all killed! I don't even have to give him no reason! Just write him and say there's a Gryffindor whore who disrespected me, and he'd _thank me, _he would! Turn the lot of 'em in for Blood-Traitors!"

All right, so maybe it wasn't a fancy speech, didn't have that thing that made it sound like it was written in a history book already like old Malfoy or the Dark Lord could do, but it actually dashed the nasty smirk from her face, and she shrank back, suddenly pale. "You wouldn't!"

"They got their eyes on the Browns already, you know!" Vince cut in, and he was glad to see that his friend had gotten it back too. "And the Dark Lord gives all kinds of rewards for folk what turn in Blood-Traitors. He wants to make spectacles about it. Doesn't kill 'em no nice ways, neither. What'd he do to the Muggle-Studies Prof, Greg? Dad told me –"

"Fed her to the snake," he supplied happily.

"Yeah! You wanna see your Mummy and Daddy get fed to the Dark Lord's snake? Or…or whatever else he wants to do to 'em? Because he can do stuff! Really bad stuff!"

Brown's face didn't have any expression at all any more, and her voice sounded strange, sort of dead. "You don't want to do this."

"It doesn't have to be nobody getting killed." Power was a funny thing. It had made him feel so good to scare her, to make the smirk go away, but now it made him feel just as strong to be able to offer her hope again. To point out that they _were_ being fair here; she was the one putting up a stink and making it complicated for no reason when she was outnumbered, overpowered, and disarmed. "Just…you know, do your thing. We's being really nice here. It's up to you and all." He pointed chidingly at her shirt. "Coulda raped you and everything."

She looked down very slowly, messing with the edges of her shirt where the buttons weren't as if she hadn't noticed it before, even though she had to have. At last she shook her head, and she seemed to be trying to find that face again. "No."

"Dear Daddy, hope the Dark Lord's snake's all kinds of hungry…."

"I didn't say I wouldn't." Her voice was very quiet, and he couldn't see her face, shadowed under her hair. "I said you don't want to."

Now Brown did look up, and everything had changed all over again. Her eyes were half-closed, her shoulders tilted in a way that made her neck look longer, her lips parted, and she'd stopped holding her shirt, letting it fall all the way open and even shrugging it off one shoulder as she leaned way, way forward. "You're right. I am a slut. A total, complete, unforgivable whore. I'll do anyone. I've done _everyone_. I've done _Hagrid_. I've done the _Giant Squid. _Merlin, those tentacles…."

She made a sound way down in her throat that was almost sighing but deeper, her back arched, her eyes closing, and it was all he could do not to drop his wand. Beside him, he heard Vince almost choke. "I knew it! Nott ain't no liar, I told you –"  
Slowly, every movement showing something off, she unfolded herself and stood up, letting the outer robe and the remains of the vest fall to the floor behind her. She was just in the bra and the trousers and what was left of the shirt now, and she was acting like she didn't have a care in the world any more, twirling the ends of her hair around the fingers of one hand as the other plucked at her last shirt button. "And I guess you boys must really be brave to be willing to risk it if you know all about me."

Greg's brain had achieved the realization that she had, incredibly, seen reason, but the results of that were significantly slowing further calculations, and he blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"I mean," she shrugged casually. The shirt fell off. "Madame Pomfrey said that only some of them are instantly contagious, only a few are severely mutenagenic and virulent, and I'm sure a few even cancel each other out –"

He frowned, aware that those were words that went with nasty things, not amazingly fantastic ones. "What you going on about?"

"Nothing," Brown purred, and sweet Merlin, she was right in front of Vince, running her fingers down his shirt, her eyes promising things he'd never even dreamed of, and he'd never been more jealous or anticipated anything as much in his entire life. "It won't hurt too long, anyway."

Vince yelped, jerking back, one hand still on his belt buckle as he brandished his wand at her. "It ain't supposed to _hurt! _No biting! I'll hex you, I will!_"_

"Oh, I don't bite, not usually. But didn't your Mummies tell you about girls like me? What happens?"

"Sure," Vince sputtered, turning red again. "I just don't remember…er…all the details."

"Well, those _do_ vary. Sometimes it's just pustules. Or oozing and itching. Sometimes red flaky bits. Sometimes, of course, the whole lot just turns all purply-black, swells up, and bursts, but that's not every time, and you're clearly willing to take the risk."

Greg's jaw dropped, and he felt as if he'd just cut into his birthday cake to find it full of dragon dung, especially since she was so obviously still willing, even – oh, it wasn't _fair - _eager. "You got some kind of disease?"

"Sixteen of them, last time I checked. But if it's the only way to save my family, and since you're so insistent…." She started to move away from Vince and towards him, licking her lips slowly, sensuously, taking deep breaths like she was getting herself ready, but crap, was it transmitted by air or spit or skin and did he already..._shit! _

He waved the wand quickly, slamming the barrier into place between them. "_Protego_! Don't you move one more step! Get away from me!"

"Hot and cold." Brown cocked one hip and planted her hand on it, pouting. "I feel rejected now."

There it was again. The Gryffindor smile.

Greg saw red. He'd always thought that was a metaphor, but for an instant, his vision actually flared scarlet, and he heard himself make a sound that belonged in one of Hagrid's pens. That _bitch! _She'd done it on purpose, teased them, played them, _made fun of them_ when she knew goddamned well she was crawling with all that! Mudblood-loving Blood-Traitor trash cunt had _no fucking right! _

"I'll teach you some – " She dodged the slap that was meant to take her across the face, and he'd forgotten about the wands in his hands, but they got her good across the top of her tits now, and harder than he'd even realized. Sent her flat on her back, he heard her head hit the floor, and the cry she made was like a spell. He laughed, threatening her with the wands again. "Like that? Huh? Think you're laughing at us now, slut?!"

The hard-on was back, but he barely noticed. He was still angrier than he had ever been, but the pride feeling was on top of that, and lust on top of that, and they all mixed like the ingredients of potion with more other stuff than he could have listed in twenty years but that still could all be said in four words. "WE ARE IN CHARGE!"

He kicked her, knocking her back down, and again, and now she was making sobbing noises and yes, that was how it should have been a long time ago! Vince was there beside him now, pulling her up by the arms, shoving her into the middle of the room and sending her careening off a desk. "Stand up! Show us your tits!"

Brown's hand started to bend behind her back, going for the clasp of her bra, but then she hesitated, and Vince brandished the wand over his Mark. "Got any goodbyes?"

She did it.

The bra came off, dropped to the floor, and there was no hint of that smile on her mouth now as she closed her eyes, pressing both fists against her thighs and throwing back her head and shoulders to present those magnificent, huge tits with the red streak of his blow across them like gifts to Kings.

It wasn't like before, where she'd been playing it up, but this was even sexier, somehow. She wasn't doing it because she thought she was all that, but because _they _were in control, making her want to. He'd wondered, sometimes, what it was like for the kind of blokes that girls went mental for, but now he knew, and it was better than he'd imagined. "And your trousers and knickers. Take those off, too."

Her eyes flashed a single heartbeat of rebellious fire. "You –!"

"I said off!"

He wasn't really aware of having done it, but at some point, he'd unzipped his trousers, and he had his dick in his hand. She made a face at him, but her eyes still said she knew who was boss, so it didn't bother him this time. If anything, he thought he felt himself get harder. "You get those near me," she hissed, "and you'd better hope Madame Pomfrey can brew the antidotes before the sores eat through."

Vince's wand cracked, flashed, and she doubled over, groaning in pain. It was slow watching her get to her feet again. The movements were slow, like when she'd been pretending to come on to them, stretching her limbs, the little flick of her tongue over her lips, the flutter of her eyes, the way her chest was heaving, her face flushed. Oh, so hot. So hot. He shuddered, his hand working faster, harder with every whimper. "Do it again, Vince."

There was a red mark on her stomach where the spell had hit. It made the skin around it look even more perfect, and it marked her, showed her for the trash she was. Her fingers went to the button of her trousers, undid them, pushed them down on her hips, let them drop around her ankles. "I hope you –"

The wand an inch from the Mark. "_KNICKERS!" _

She was crying now, her tits jiggling, her nipples hard, her legs so long and he could see the dark hair at her crotch through the pale pink knickers. He was going to see everything in a minute now. She wouldn't dare delay any longer than –

"Shit!" There was noise in the corridor. His eyes met Vince's in a split-second of panic, and it passed between them in an instant as clear as Legilimency exactly how much trouble they would be in if they were discovered like this by whoever it was. DAs or Snape or the Carrows or even Draco, it wouldn't even matter.

Brown had heard it too. Her face had lit up, she was about to scream, but damned if Vince couldn't be faster sometimes than even Greg gave him credit for. The gag spun out of thin air, clamping down on her mouth, and he had her in a chokehold, her hair twisted in his fist as he whispered right into her ear, so quiet that it was only how high every sense had climbed that let him hear it at all. "You get off for tonight, slut, but you're coming back here tomorrow night, and we're getting a proper show. Wear better knickers, too. Slut knickers. Red ones. _Gryffindor _ones."

He let go, releasing the gag, throwing her towards her clothes, and for almost a minute, she just stared at them. The tension was so thick Greg couldn't breathe, and this was it, wasn't it? It all came down to right now, and either she'd scream or she'd obey. By all rights, they had everything over her, but the DAs were strange that way, the Gryffindors strangest of all. It was an enemy that did nothing the way they were supposed to.

"One word, slut." Greg tucked himself back into his trousers, knowing he could finish easily enough later. Her wand was still in his hand, and he tossed it down, letting the contempt of the gesture say it all, letting his Mark show. "There's two of us, and we'd be missed a lot faster than the likes of you. Our _Daddies_ would miss us. We don't see you here tomorrow night, or anything else happens with you or you tell any of your DAs or anything else, and it's Dear Daddy on the morning post and sad sad Blood-Traitor Browns by tea-time."

She said nothing. Her hand closed over the wand, and for a moment, she froze again, muscles that were almost alarming to see on a witch appearing briefly across her back and shoulders. Then everything slumped, shuddered, and they watched her dress herself, repairing the tears with magic just enough to keep the clothing from falling off her body. Brown refused to look at them, but her hand never left the wand, and it made him nervous, even if he couldn't afford to show it.

At last, she was dressed, even the scarf around her face again, hood pulled up, but as she turned to leave, Vince grabbed her harshly by one arm, his hand digging in so deeply she nearly dropped her wand. "Red ones. The kind with the string in the back."

Her nod said everything.

THE END


End file.
